There it was—in a file called “grocery list.txt” on the desktop.
It was lengthy—if she typed as slowly as Mercedes had said, this must’ve been quite an under-taking. He went to the first entry, and was immediately sure that this was not just a re-typing of her hand-written one.
DJ read.
October 15th
I’m keeping my real feelings written down here where DJ can’t find it—the way he said it, I just know he’s up to something. I think he’s trying to get inside my head—like he knows everyone has to be nice to him but he wants to know my real feelings. So I made another one, in case he asks for it or just comes to take it, and I’ll keep this one just for me.
This was still a good idea. The past week was the most insane week of my life. Sometimes I felt like I was losing my mind a little. DJ Swanson, my RA, has some kind of magic power or something that makes people be nice to him. I didn’t notice it at first—of course I want to be nice to him, he’s DJ! But then I saw just HOW nice everyone was, and how weirdly, and every time I think someone will say something or stop him they don’t. I don’t think anyone can stop him.
It started when he came to my room and beat up Brayden. That was good, kind of. I don’t like fighting, but Brayden was mad and was probably going to hit me again, so I think this time it was mostly good. Then he had me blow him and fuck him—he said it was to make sure I was on the pill but really looking back I know he just wanted to fuck me and knew I’d let him. I did, of course.
I let him do a lot of things. He took me to his house with his family. He fucked me in front of his mom, and in hearing of his sister. He made this girl Brianne let him have anal sex with her. He told her if she did he’d let her “borrow” me for a day—and he did. And I let him. I’ve never even been with a girl before. Sexually it was fine, sometimes good, but mostly, I feel weird about letting him trade me, like property.
He fucked his mom and humiliated her, fucked his sister and her cheer squad, fucked her friends… DJ did whatever he wanted to whoever he wanted, and nobody did anything. Some cops came to bust a party he threw, and he just talked them down—even took one of their guns and was playing with it like it was a toy. I’ve never been so scared in my life—he was drunk and had been crazy all night, and with a gun!
I don’t know if he understands himself. I’m not sure I understand him either. But I know the way he uses people… like, none of us mind what he does to us. He’s DJ—who could be mad? But the things he did to people… there were people taking naked pictures and videos that will never go away now. He put a naked high school girl on a leash in front of everyone—she’s going to be the laughing stock of her whole school. He drove a bus drunk and crashed it into a tree that could just as easily have been someone’s house, or someone’s kid. And I know if it was someone’s kid, they couldn’t even be mad or call the cops. I know I wouldn’t, even if he hurt my mom. I hope he doesn’t.
So I thought about it a lot when he wasn’t busy using me and I think I’m going to try to make him my boyfriend. Which I know sounds crazy, but I figured:
1) I’m used to having sex when I don’t really want to and everybody thinks I’m a big slut anyway so at least with me he’s not ruining my reputation or damaging me worse than I am.
2) I think he really likes me, somehow. Most guys say I don’t have a personality and they’re kinda right I think but DJ actually wanted to spend time with me and talk and listen and stuff. Maybe it means I’m supposed to do this… ???
3) Every time I make him screw me or humiliate me or use me it means he isn’t focused on someone else. I’ve been doing the same for Mom with Earl since I was 12 after all. Kinda the same point as 1 I guess but I’m still trying to sike myself up so whatever.
My whole life I always kind of wondered if there was some reason for being what I am, for having big boobs and pretty face and good hair just so I could be miserable all the time. But maybe it was all preparation for this, and Earl was just practice for the real villain, teaching me how to hide my bruises and lie about why I’m bleeding down there. I guess that would make me a hero. I don’t think I am, but if I can protect someone else, then they call me whatever they want. Probably a slut like usual, but I don’t care. I wanted to be happy but if I can’t do that maybe I can at least make someone else happy.
DJ reared back, his pulse racing, his stomach threatening to empty itself.
Here it was—exactly what he had asked for. Access to her unfiltered thoughts. He just hadn’t counted on the filter filtering quite so much. Maybe that she’d faked some orgasms, or not been into the girl-on-girl thing, or some judgment on banging his mom. Not… this. Not the revelation that she thought he was a monster she would feed herself to as to spare the other villagers.
You ruin lives.
She’d been right. He’d thought she’d just been having some kind of nervous breakdown or something when he’d accused her of siding with Ashley, but now he saw it for what it was. Somehow, he’d pushed her over the edge and she’d managed to actually speak her mind—at least until his power caught up with her and drove her to her knees from guilt. In that short window, she’d tried to tell him about all the damage he’d done and how she despised him just as much as Brittney did.
Brittney. He finally got his answers to his musings about the vague references to Earl he’d found in her fake journal. Holy shit, he’d managed to find the most vulnerable and abused person he could and heap more abuse on her—and because of what he was, rather than run away screaming or kicking his balls up into his neck, she sought more of it.
That was the kind of person Brittney was. That was why she’d wanted to go home to her own family for Thanksgiving break, even knowing she would be the victim of misery and abuse, but she might be able to save her mom a beating.
Returning to the journal, he searched for Earl’s name. He was mentioned occasionally, but one entry in particular she’d gotten caught up in remembering what she’d been through with him. He read one tale after another of violence and abuse and threats and rape. How futile her efforts to bring him to justice had been. He read until he thought his blood would boil in his veins if he read another word.
“Mercedes? I need her home address.”
It wasn’t hard to find, thankfully. DJ had driven over 90mph most of the way there, shaving the trip down to a mere hour and a half. A cop had tried to pull him over, but he’d just ignored it until they’d pulled up alongside him and seen him. DJ just waved; the officer had nodded and fallen back in with other traffic.
When he’d left the dorm, he’d been in a rage. Hypocritical? Sure, but if DJ couldn’t undo the damage he’d done, he could at least stop her and her mom from suffering more of it. For once, he was going to use his power not to be the bad guy, but to fight one. Fueled by a combination of overpowering self-loathing and a righteous fury, he’d envisioned all sorts of punishments. He didn’t even know what this guy looked like, but he doubted anyone else would recognize him either after DJ bashed his face in.
He double-checked the address on the front of the big white house, then strode right into the house—or tried to, anyway. The door was locked. Apparently a dead-bolt was the one thing that could still tell him no. He rang the doorbell, then rang over and over. He hadn’t come this far to be thwarted by a door. Finally a woman answered it. She was Brittney’s mother, obviously, herself a stunner as well. Months of indulging every whim of fondling and fucking a cute stranger nudged him to cop a quick feel, and his inward-focused anger redoubled itself.